


Trouble brewing?

by monanotlisa



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Chromatic Character, F/F, Female Character of Color, Female Characters, Female-Centric, Light-Hearted, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-19
Updated: 2011-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-17 10:54:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monanotlisa/pseuds/monanotlisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Set in an early season of SGA]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trouble brewing?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [havocthecat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/havocthecat/gifts).



"How do you think this is supposed to work, Lieutenant?"

"Differently." Laura Cadman's forehead furrowed quite attractively.

"Right." Teyla put her hands lightly on her hips until she could feel the comforting weight of the knife hilt under the fingers of her right hand and the three braided leather strings signifying her mother's house on the belt under her left hand. She stared down and tried to figure it all out.

Which was proving to be much more difficult than imagined, even with an Earther by her side. Maybe especially with this Earther by her side. Teyla glanced sideways at Lieutenant Laura Cadman, who was standing next to her with her hands shoved into the back pockets of her drab yet interestingly fitted trousers and wearing an expression of puzzlement on her face that, Teyla was pretty certain, only mirrored her own.

"I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to smoke, though."

Time to tear her eyes away, silently curse the Ancestors and their ilk, and also to take this pot off the stove that had so curiously little in common with either the camp-fires these days or the old Athosian hearth constructions in their lost cities of stone.

The pot was hot, even at the handle, which made no sense at all and instead made Teyla exhale sharply. There was suddenly a hand on her wrist and another one, wrapped in a cloth, cupping the pot and setting it gently down on an edge that wasn't emanating heat. "Man, Teyla. You'd think you'd never cooked a day in your life." Laura's voice was mocking, but her eyes were warm, and Teyla did not believe this was only about her alone: there was a question in this sentence, a request for affirmation.

"You do not seem to be familiar with this process either." Pointed, but probably appropriate.

"Cooking? Nah, I prefer fast food." A long look at her, then Laura added, "Honestly, I think Dr. Weir's idea of a cook-out that has the head representative of every nation here on Atlantis present a signature dish, is great...for everyone not actually doing the cooking."

Teyla, currently breathing carefully through her nose and waving the black cloud away, was forced to agree with Laura on this point.

Laura herself had to clear her throat two times before taking a step back from the stove and continuing, "And let me guess, you were all noble and a responsible leader of your people so you didn't foist this off on another Athosian who gives a crap and can do food-prep?"

Teyla parsed this for a half-heartbeat, then nodded. Playing to this young soldier's notions of her was surely easier than stating the truth. Then again, one part thereof was easy enough to disclose. "I paid great attention to the cultural communication aspect as discussed with Dr. Weir...but not so much to the culinary one."

"Can't blame you. And just so we're clear, I don't blame you either for just snagging the first female you could find to help you out. Even though she turned out to be no Paul Bocuse either." Laura smiled at her, a little crookedly. The edge of amusement in her eyes was not all sweetness and light, and that particular knowledge let Teyla state the other part too, after all.

"You were the twelfth, and I did pass by Major Chiheb, the head cook, as well as three of my people." She lifted her chin, just a little, and looked at Laura, waiting for her to understand.

And when she did -- when Laura smiled, a _lot_ crookedly now -- Teyla decided to postpone all worries about the perfect dish of tuttleroot soup.


End file.
